


Not A Bloody Morning Person

by casstayinmyass, watnie247



Category: And Then There Were None (TV 2015)
Genre: Armstrong Is Not A Morning Person, Early Mornings, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Grumpiness, M/M, Morning After, Morning Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 22:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6628816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass, https://archiveofourown.org/users/watnie247/pseuds/watnie247
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armstrong is not a morning person- and Blore finds this out the hard way. Is it really too much to ask for a nice, relaxing morning?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not A Bloody Morning Person

**Author's Note:**

  * For [watnie247](https://archiveofourown.org/users/watnie247/gifts).



> Because Natalie and I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that Armstrong is like, the /opposite/ of a morning person, and Blore would totally suffer as a result.
> 
> (("Has Mrs. Rodgers gotten worse?" *fml, turns back slowly* "I would say so. She's dead." *now let me go the fuck back to sleep okay*)) lmao Armstrong control your grumps

It was a bright, jovial morning on Soldier Island- for one of the two men in the guest bed, at least.

Dr. Armstrong felt something clammy on his ear- something faint, he couldn't make out just yet, that became more distinguishable as he faded into coherence from the delightful realm of sleep.

"What are you doing?" the redhead muttered, frowning as he batted the man behind him.

"Wakin' you up nicely," Blore smiled, pressing another kiss to the doctor's ear.

"That's what you call this?" Armstrong grumbled, rolling back over frigidly.

"Oi, you're a peach in the morning, ain't you?" Blore muttered, crossing his arms petulantly.

"It's an ungodly hour," Armstrong retorted, "I have the opportunity to enjoy my rest this weekend, and I plan to take full advantage of it, thank you. Now go back to sleep."

Blore glared at the back of Armstrong's bedhead, then suddenly found a streak of amusement running through him as he regarded the curmudgeon.

"That's not what you said last night," the detective deadpanned.

Armstrong huffed in response, refusing to indulge his companion. Blore frowned.

"You're a bloody spoilsport, you know that?"

Armstrong smirked, catching the chance. "That's not what _you_ said last night."

Blore couldn't help it- he grinned, but Armstrong quickly wiped the smile off of his own face, burying himself back under the covers before Blore got the wrong idea that he was now up and about.

"Let me sleep, you ass."

Blore thought about getting up, simply putting on his robe and leaving the doctor to wallow in his post-sunrise grouchiness; but something kept him in bed as well. Leaning over again, he returned his lips to  Armstrong's ear, then down to the back of his neck, the top of his freckled back...

"Will you let me alone?!" Armstrong snapped, recoiling again and squeezing a pillow over his head, "Can't a man sleep in without being badgered?"

"Well, _excuse me_ for trying to wake you up pleasantly, Armstrong, god knows with an attitude like that, you won't have anyone doin' it again."

"That's my bloody objective!" Armstrong exclaimed, clenching his jaw. Blore sulked to himself as he finally accepted defeat, and turned back around. Perhaps another hour or so wouldn't hurt...

Armstrong's eyes slowly opened, and guilt tugged at his heartstrings as he stared at the dejected heap beside him over his shoulder.

"Blore," he mumbled, but Blore ignored him. "Blore!" he muttered a little louder, and he heard an equally-irritable, "What?"

The doctor sighed, and, cursing his soft heart, flipped over to face the backside of the curled up detective.

"Turn around."

"I'm going back to sleep, like you said."

"Well, maybe I don't... want you to... anymore," the doctor tried with a wince, and Blore pursed his lips, flipping back around so that the very tips of their noses were just brushing.

"Indecisive bastard, you are," Blore whispered, brown eyes darting down to where Armstrong was licking his lips.

The doctor regarded the man in front of him, regarded his deceptively youthful features and thin moustache, and reached in to kiss him. Blore sucked in a breath at the unexpected action, but soon melted into the touch as he reciprocated softly, air between them thinning as they kissed each other.

When they had to breathe, Blore was the first to pull away. "You've got a bloody stiffie, haven't you?!"

"It can't be helped," Armstrong sniffed with a blush, "How would you expect me to not after that?!"

Blore nodded, considering this, then went back in, dragging Armstrong overtop of him and feeling the comfortable weight of the other secretly muscular man pinning him to the mattress. Just as they were about to _properly_ wake each other up, there was a leisurely rap on the door.

"Morning, tubs. Sleep well? Good to hear. Coffee's ready!"

It was Lombard, and Miss Claythorne was most likely downstairs making a pot.

"B-b-be right down!" Blore stuttered, rolling out of bed and grabbing for his robe, and Armstrong rolled back over, shrugging.

"What're you doin'?" Blore asked incredulously, "It's breakfast!"

"Going back to sleep. What else?"

Blore thought about this, then dropped his robe in favor of the warmth under the sheets and the other man's body heat radiating onto him again.

"Yes, well... I suppose it's a tad too early, anyway. Last night was one hell of a-"

"Sleeping requires silence," Armstrong went right back to grumbling, and Blore shook his head.

"Unbelievable. Always-" the detective was quickly silenced by Armstrong slipping his hand into his. Blore swallowed, felt a reassuring squeeze from Armstrong, then settled into his pillow. Smiling a little, he let himself drift off back to sleep beside the grumpy cloud beside him-

Maybe he _should_ appreciate the finer things on this vacation, like sleep, breakfast not made from powder, and... a man- albeit, a cranky one- he cared for, holding his hand the morning after.


End file.
